“Then we must try and make London endurable for you,” he remarked cheerfully. He paced faster, stomping around. I'm almost sorry your suspicions are unfounded, if your father in any way resembled you, my youngster. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you.
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